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Drabble: Over the wall

Even if you stand on your tip-toes, you’ll never be able to look over that wall. It’s lived too long, known too many other nosy children to topple down just for you. On the other side you can hear voices: the clinking of glasses, a woman’s laughter, the lilting tune of a clarinet. You can just imagine the fun they’re having.

It takes a long while to find an opening. It was hidden behind a set of bushes that had grown together so much that they looked like one enormous bird’s nest. You’re small though and you slip through their gnarled branches with ease.

The light blinds you. This side of the wall looks very different from the other. There are no trees here, and the concrete patio is as white as a river bed. You hear the woman’s laughter again and spot her walking up to you in a vibrant crimson dress and wide brimmed hat.

“Well, it’s about time,” she says.

You turn around, suddenly anxious to return to your woods, but just as you’re about to reach the gap, a net ensnares you. Up you go into the air, your struggles fruitless. The woman holds her hat in the wind and scrutinizes you.

“She’s a scrawny one.”

The spidery man, who holds you so high up, grunts an agreement, then pulls you out by your foot. You’re held upside-down while the woman continues to poke and prod you, a frown on her lips.

“It’s early yet,” he says. “I’m sure others will come.”

She shakes her head. “Children used to be easy to catch. What in the world will we feed our guests if they’re all so skinny?”

“We should try another town,” he says and drops you into a satchel. “This one’s about dried up.”

Originally posted on Typetrigger. Fiction in 300 words or less.
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